


oh baby, you're a bad boy

by akaiiko



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Daddy Kink, Fast Burn Kink Slow Burn Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/pseuds/akaiiko
Summary: Keith figures out a new word for Shiro. It's a good one.“Daddy,” he moans into the pillow. Soft, wary, because it feels right as it leaves his lips but maybe it’s too much.Above him, Shiro goes entirely still. He’s buried to the hilt, warm and hard and so deep Keith swears he can feel it in his throat, the worst kind of unintentional torture. Keith squirms, and it’s not just from embarrassment. Shiro’s hands tighten on his hips briefly. Instinctively, Keith stills.“Good boy,” Shiro says.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> based on an [ask](https://akaiikowrites.tumblr.com/post/170005896693/you-think-keith-every-calls-shiro-daddy-in-the) to wuffen.

Takes almost six months into their _whatever this is_ for Keith to find the word. It’s this tease in his gut that he’s always chasing. They fumble in the dark and he’s a messy litany of ShiroTakashiSir. Closer to the word he needs but not close enough.

Because Shiro is his friend, his best friend, the person who knows the same worn in jokes and anticipates all his moves in sparring. Takashi is his boyfriend, maybe, who presses kisses everywhere on his face except his mouth and laughs when Keith grumpily yanks him in for a proper kiss. Sir is his commanding officer, the Black Paladin, his source of direction and strength and the decisive leader of this ragtag rebellion.

But a year of separation and six months of war mean that the man who’s kneading bruises into his hips doesn’t register as Shiro, or Takashi, or Sir. This is a new piece of him. Made up of the familiarity of Shiro and the gentleness of Takashi and the command of Sir. This man is kneading bruises into Keith’s hips, splitting him open in a way that verges in the best kind of pain, whispering, “be good for me, baby, that’s it, that’s it, so good for me, fuck, so sweet for me, baby boy.”

Keith finds the word.

“ _Daddy_ ,” he moans into the pillow. Soft, wary, because it feels right as it leaves his lips but maybe it’s too much.

Above him, Shiro goes entirely still. He’s buried to the hilt, warm and hard and so deep Keith swears he can feel it in his throat, the worst kind of unintentional torture. Keith squirms, and it’s not just from embarrassment. Shiro’s hands tighten on his hips briefly. Instinctively, Keith stills.

“Good boy,” Shiro says. His Galran hand leaves Keith’s hip, travels up the line of Keith’s spine, until it anchors cold and demanding in Keith’s hair. One easy pull and Keith’s upright, shoulder blades digging into the muscular planes of Shiro’s chest. The arch of his back is a slow building ache. Counterpoint to the sharp bite of the hand in his hair and at his bruised hip. He’s going to feel this for days. Some greedy thing in him loves the idea. Keith’s squirming again. It’s not a conscious choice. Pinned as he is he can’t get much leverage. “Shhhh,” Shiro croons. “Ask me for what you want, baby.”

Dull red flushes over Keith’s cheeks and chest. “Fuck me,” he says.

Yelping as the hand in his hair tightens and forces his back into an even greater arch, he feels more than sees the patient challenge of Shiro’s expression. “Fuck me, what?”

It had been Keith’s idea, Keith’s need, Keith’s word but now. Fuck it’s stuck in his throat. Right there, after months of chasing, but he can’t.

Shiro’s human hand comes down on his flank in a sharp crack. The flare of pain barely registers before it’s being soothed by gentle fingers. Heat blooms, another steady ache. “Be good, baby. Ask me for what you want so I can give it to you.” The words are half growled, punctuated by a rough move of his hips that sends sparks across all of Keith’s nerves.

Just like that, Keith’s world narrows down to how full and helpless he is.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” he says. “Please.” The hand in his hair pushes him back down into the sheets. Pins him there even as Shiro starts up the kind of deep, punishing rhythm that usually only comes after battle. After victory. Delirious with the pleasure pain sparking along his body, Keith wonders if this tastes like victory for Shiro. It tastes like something better for Keith.

“ _Daddy_!” is torn from his throat as his cums, feels Shiro’s teeth settle on his shoulder to muffle the other man’s yell as his hips lose their rhythm to something more primal, and this? This tastes like home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro needs rest. Keith will bully, bribe, or beg his way to victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more daddy kink for a lovely anon who donated to the cause. takes place somewhere between s2e3 and s2e7.

Tucked into an alcove, Keith shucks off his jacket, boots, and pants until he’s left in one of Shiro’s tee shirts—the one the dips low over his collarbone to show fading hickeys—and his boxer briefs. Ruffles his hands through his hair. Bites his lower lip until it feels puffy and achy. Looks around the hall before he darts across the way and into the map room.

As the door hisses shut behind him and the locking sequence engages, he lets his eyes run over the silhouette Shiro presents. Bent over one quadrant currently held by the Galra, lips set into a firm line, strong and sure against a map of stars. Enough to make Keith’s mouth dry and his palms sweaty.

Much as Keith likes playing long odds, this entire plan suddenly feels fundamentally flawed.

Shiro looks up. Even in the dim blue half-light of the room his eyes find Keith unerringly. “Keith?” Already he’s straightening, hand swiping away the quadrant he’d been examining. “What’s wrong?”

Crossing the space between them, he reminds himself of the last month of sleeping alone and watching Shiro drive himself to the breaking point. Keith’s not much of an actor but he doesn’t have to be. Not for this. Stopping inches away from Shiro, he tips his head back so their gazes meet. “D-daddy?” Keith hates how his voice cracks on the word. He swallows around a tongue that feels too thick.

But he loves watching the transition that happens. How Shiro focuses on him, intense and predatory, hands already reaching to draw him in closer. “What’s wrong, baby?” Hands settle on his hips and thumbs press into the jut of his hipbones just above the elastic of his boxer briefs.

It takes a few critical seconds to decide on a strategy. Part of him—a big part—wants to see if plain old sex will do the trick. But the other part reminds him that it didn’t work the last three times. The chips are down. Time to go all in.

Hooking his own fingers into Shiro’s belt, he pulls himself closer until there’s only a whisper of space between them. Lets himself focus on the way Shiro’s hands fit nearly all the way around his waist, equal parts protective and possessive, and shoves himself clear over the cliff in his mind with the hope that those hands will catch him. “Daddy, have I been bad?”

Shiro swallows. “What?”

“Have I been bad?” Keith’s voice sounds small. Not frightened, or petulant, but small. Biting his lower lip, he dares another look up at Shiro and it’s not intentional but the words come tripping out anyway. “You haven’t been paying attention to me.”

“No,” Shiro says, “No, baby, you haven’t…” Frustration colors the edges of his voice and he looks away. It’s almost enough to worry Keith until he feels Shiro’s Galra hand slide under his shirt to stroke down his spine in a soothing motion. The frustration, he understands, isn’t towards him. “It’s not you,” Shiro says finally. “I’ve just had a lot of work to do.”

Work. Keith resists the urge to wrinkle his nose. It’s not work. It’s punishment for not saving Ulaz. But that’s something to tackle at another time.

Behind Shiro, about a half a tic to the left, is a chair. One of the many scattered in the map room to allow for planning meetings or contemplation of the universe. Or seducing busy paladins.

Keith doesn’t give Shiro time to realize what he’s doing. Just shoves and tumbles with Shiro back into the chair. It creaks warning but holds beneath their combined weight. Landing positions are awkward but Keith adjusts quickly. Gets his long legs on either side of Shiro’s hips and links his hands behind Shiro’s neck. By the time he’s settled, Shiro’s blinking at him in narrow eyed bemusement and the hand at his back has settled on the dip of his spine in silent warning.

“But I’ve missed you, Daddy,” Keith says. Beneath him Shiro goes still. When Keith shifts, he feels Shiro’s half hard cock press into his thigh and resists the urge to grind. They’re not there yet. “Do you want to know how much?” Embarrassment curls hot in his gut. Already he can feel the flush starting to cover his cheeks and his chest in uneven, blotchy color. But for the first time in nearly a month, Shiro’s entirely focused on something other than his own self loathing, and that’s enough to keep Keith going. “Why don’t you move your hand down, Daddy?

Shiro’s catching on. Of course he is. Golden Son of the Garrison doesn’t miss much. Slowly, he drags metal fingers down from the dip of Keith’s spine to the cleft of his ass. Doesn’t bother to push the boxer briefs down, which somehow makes it worse when he presses a testing finger against Keith’s hole and growls low at the way it gives easily.

“You did this?” he asks. Keith shudders and nods as Shiro’s finger works in deeper. “Fingered yourself open for me?” The contrast of heat and cold, the way Shiro gets deeper than he could reach himself, the intensity of finally having Shiro focused on him again is undoing Keith faster than he can keep up with. “Answer me, baby.”

“Yes,” Keith says, dragging the word out over too many syllables. Shiro’s added another finger, pressing hard against Keith’s prostate in a way that’s making it hard to focus on anything but the toe curling flicker of pleasure that’s too much and not quite enough.

Warm, human fingers cup the back of Keith’s neck. He’d flinch, because he hadn’t realized Shiro’d moved his hand, but then Shiro presses his thumb just beneath Keith’s jaw in a way that forces him to tip his head back. They’re kissing, slow and deep and filthy, perfect counterpoint to the drugging feeling of Shiro’s fingers. When they pull apart there’s a thin string of spit connecting their lips and that’s enough to make Keith blush an entirely new shade of red.

“Tell me what you need,” Shiro says. Three fingers, now, and if they weren’t in such an awkward position he’d probably try for four. Shiro’s teeth bite blue-black bruises into Keith’s exposed neck even has his thumb forces Keith's head back another precious few centimeters. Every so often his hips roll up, thrusting the heavy line of his arousal against Keith’s thigh. “Be good, baby, tell me what you need.”

Stars spin around them. The map room is still turned on. Somewhere in here, the quadrant that Shiro had found so important is still spinning along. Earlier Shiro was obsessed with proving himself to the universe. Now he’s just obsessed with Keith.

Victory thrills along Keith’s spine.

Rubbing one hand up along the shaved scruff of Shiro’s undercut, he says, “Need you, Daddy. Need you in me. Please.” That gets another growl, and metal fingers pressing hard enough against his prostate to have him seeing stars, and then he’s lifted clear off Shiro’s lap in a display of strength that has him moaning.

It’s a delirious handful of seconds. Shiro yanks down Keith’s boxer briefs so they catch around his thighs, undoes his own belt and zipper, pulls Keith’s back flush against his chest before lowering Keith down slow. “Guide me in,” he commands. Keith reaches down blindly and grasps the hot length of Shiro, lines it up, tries to breath through the stretch. By the time Shiro bottoms out Keith’s breathing out in harsh whines, stuffed full in a way he barely knows how to accommodate after a near celibacy for a month. The material of Shiro’s pants is rough beneath him, as anchoring as the hand Shiro’s used to ruck up his tee shirt and pressed over his heart in a blatantly possessive gesture.

“So good for me,” Shiro breathes. “My baby boy. God, so good for me.” The way he thrusts up into Keith holds none of his earlier urgency. It’s meant to take Keith apart by degrees.

“Daddy.” Keith’s voice won’t stop breaking and he can’t even bring himself to care anymore. He lets his head fall back on Shiro’s shoulder and reaches up to grip Shiro’s wrist. Maybe he could fight to chase his release. Make Shiro fuck him rough and deep. But he likes this, likes the slow build of pleasure curling in his gut, likes the way he feels like the literal center of Shiro’s universe.

Coming is less like a bang and more like a whimper. It’s rolling through him before he recognizes it and he’s literally whimpering an overstimulated chorus of, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” while Shiro chases his own release.

Heat chases through him, punctuated by Shiro’s drawn out moan, hips bucking to get him as deep in Keith as he can be. Sweat cools slow between their bodies. Around them, the stars spin on. “Fuck,” Shiro says. With feeling. Keith feels a laugh bubble up in his chest and he lolls his head just enough to press a kiss to the sharp line of Shiro’s jaw.

Eventually, they get up. Dress. Shut down the map room. Keith grabs his clothes from the alcove in the hall. For an entire minute they stumble down the hallways in the dark before Shiro swings Keith up into his arms. Keith doesn’t even protest too much. Mostly because he quickly falls into a half doze that he only wakes from at the hiss of a door opening.

Something soft gives way beneath him and he rolls instinctively. Pillows, blankets, all of them smelling like Shiro. They’re in the bedroom, then. Keith reaches blindly and catches Shiro’s human wrist. Cooing low in his throat, he murmurs, “Stay, Daddy.”

There’s a sigh. Heavy and half exasperated. But Shiro sounds all fond as he says, “I’m going to.” That’s good enough for Keith to release him.

In a doze, he listens to Shiro move around the room. The lights dim, eventually, and he feels the bed dip to accommodate Shiro’s greater weight. When an arm hooks around his waist he goes with it easily until he’s tucked halfway under Shiro like the world’s most lethargic teddy bear. “G’night,” Keith mutters.

Briefly, the arm around his waist tightens.“Thank you for tonight,” Shiro whispers, slow with pleasure and exhaustion, pressing a kiss to the curve of Keith’s neck. “You’re so good to me, baby.” Keith feels his lips curve up into a victorious smile. They drift into sleep like that. So tangled up that it’s hard to tell where one of them begins and the other one ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> want to scream about sheith daddy kink with me? come find me on [tumblr](https://akaiikowrites.tumblr.com/).


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